


The Mess We Can Make

by vinoharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Face-Sitting, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinoharry/pseuds/vinoharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Why the fuck did you make a chore chart?” He’s not smiling in the way Harry expected. He doesn’t look as eager as Harry did while he was making the chart. “I know how to clean a counter Harry. I know when to sweep the floors.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mess We Can Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starvingsnout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvingsnout/gifts).



> My darling, I hope you enjoy!

“Harry?”

Harry sits up in his bed – no, their bed – as soon as he hears the tentativeness in Zayn’s voice. He knows Zayn’s in their kitchen due to the way his voice echoes the slightest amount. Their flat – the fact that they actually share a flat now is enough to get Harry’s heart racing and stomach turning – is smaller than Harry had imagined his first flat with someone would be, but it’s small and homey and theirs and Harry couldn’t be happier.

“Harry, what the fuck is this?”

Harry shuts his laptop and scrambles out of the sheets. There’s a slight edge to Zayn’s voice that Harry’s not used to hearing directed at him and it’s troubling. He did all the washing up and organized their refrigerator. To be fair he did rearrange the bowl and plate cupboards.

Zayn’s not standing by the cupboards or the refrigerator. He’s standing by the table and he’s got a neatly written paper in his hand.

“Did you read it?” Harry asks excitedly. His pulse thrums in his veins at the thought of Zayn reading it.

“Yeah… but I don’t fucking get it.”

Harry rolls his eyes and plucks the paper from Zayn’s hand. He holds it in front of Zayn and skims his fingers over the various activities. “It’s a chore chart Zayn.”

“Why the fuck did you make a chore chart?” He’s not smiling in the way Harry expected. He doesn’t look as eager as Harry did while he was making the chart. “I know how to clean a counter Harry. I know when to sweep the floors.”

Harry shifts his weight from foot to foot. He feels hot under Zayn’s glare. “Why are you getting defensive?”

“Because you made a chore chart! You could have just told me that I didn’t clean well enough.”

Harry puts the chart on the table and his hands on his hips. “This isn’t about not cleaning well enough.”

“Then what’s it about?” Zayn shakes his head. He looks t Harry expectantly, but everything that Harry can think to say sounds dumb when he attempts to formulate it into a sentence. “This is stupid Harry. I can’t believe we’re actually fighting over this.”

“This isn’t – Zayn.” Harry reaches for Zayn when he turns his back. Their rings ting as Harry wraps his fingers around Zayn’s. “I thought it could be like, romantic or whatever.”

“Romantic?” Zayn asks. He doesn’t look convinced.

“Yeah like… it’s gonna sound dumb.”

Some of Zayn’s anger has dissipated from his features. “Try me.”

Harry stares at the tiled floor. It’s cold beneath his feet and he’s sure he’s got goose pimples on his arms and up his legs from the draft in the room. “I just thought we could do it together like. Make it a routine where we spend the day tidying up and listening to music and then-” he cuts himself off when he sees that Zayn’s eyebrows are stitched together. “See – I told you it was dumb.”

“It is,” Zayn agrees, but before Harry can let go of their hands and feel like an idiot, Zayn’s pulling him in and slinging his arms around Harry’s neck. “You’re a bit of an idiot y’know.”

“I know,” Harry says. He grins though, because Zayn’s smiling at him with squinted eyes and puffed up cheeks. “But it’s cute right?”

“I guess. I mean… I wouldn’t mind spending all day cleaning in our pants and watching you shake your arse while cleaning the floors.” Zayn nudges his nose against Harry’s. “On all fours and like, could kind of get used to the idea.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans in and kisses Zayn.

They’ve kissed in their kitchen every day since moving in together a few weeks ago. Their last year of uni has started and Harry’s been working at the bakery more frequently and with Zayn’s internship at a publishing office, they’ve barely had time to breath. They make time to eat together though. Whether that be at five or eleven pm, whether Harry’s half asleep and Zayn’s energized from three cups of coffee and an energy drink, they have a meal and make out against the counters like one of their mums is going to catch them at any moment.

Zayn presses Harry against the refrigerator. Magnets dig into his shoulder blade and he can feel the thick picture frame Safaa gave Zayn pushing at his lower back. It’s worth it though for the sound Zayn makes when Harry grinds forward.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, sucking a mark that will easily fade into the hinge of Zayn’s jaw.

“Mmm,” Zayn answers. “Want me to ride you? You haven’t bent me over the counter yet either.”

He’s always been very verbal during foreplay; opting to ask questions and push Harry’s buttons to see how far he can take him. It’s Harry who does most of the moaning, most of the grunting and gasping. But whenever Harry fucks Zayn, proper fucking where Zayn’s stuffing his shirt in his mouth to keep quiet for the neighbours, or sucking on Harry’s fingers while he takes him from behind, Zayn’s the one who can’t control the breathy noises.

“Want you to fuck me so bad,” Zayn whispers. He smooths Harry’s hair off his face before scratching his jaw. He’s got a dusting of dark beard that stands out against the bright silver he’s dyed it. The tips have been styled up at the front of his face and it makes him look older, suave-r.

“Please,” Harry nods.

Zayn fingers the hem of Harry's shirt and tucks the tips of his fingers into the waistband of Harry's pants. "Think about the mess we can make."

Harry leans more heavily into Zayn, kissing wherever his lips can reach. Zayn laughs close to his ear.

“Too bad you’ve got work in half an hour.”

“We've got time,” Harry decides. He’s only wearing a pair of trackies and one of his old sixth form shirts. He’s half hard in his pants, but it won’t take much to get himself off if he takes some time to open Zayn first.

“Nope,” Zayn teases. He slides out of Harry’s grasp as well as his reach. He comes back half a moment later though to hip check Harry out of the way and grab the carton of orange juice.

Harry stares fish-mouthed as Zayn unscrews the cap and takes a generous swig.

“That’s-” Harry watches Zayn swallow and tighten the cap. “Zayn that’s so unsanitary.”

“You swallow my come Harry, don’t think it is.”

“That’s different.”

Zayn laughs as he passes Harry. He pats Harry on the cheek and leans in to whisper, “You eat my arse then. How’s that?”

\---

Once Zayn’s said it, Harry can’t stop thinking about it.

Throughout his shift at the bakery, all Harry can think about is eating Zayn out. He spills hot water onto himself when he goes to pour someone a take-away tea cup and more than once he forgets about the bagels in the toaster. Harry fumbles with the carafes and nearly burns the pumpkin scones. He nicks the tip of his thumb with a serrated knife while thinking about the phone sitting heavy in his pocket.

The rush dies down and leaves Harry with flushed cheeks. There are little bits of hair falling out of his bun and he can feel the little fuzzies tickling the back of his neck. His shirt is hot on his back, his apron shifted to the side; his fingers itch to message Zayn.

Harry grabs a rag and half-heartedly starts wiping the counters while sneaking his phone out of his back pocket. Jill, a beautiful girl with pale purple hair and a septum piercing doesn’t even bat an eye as she refills the espresso beans. He can hear Beth shuffling around in the back – the oven snaps shut and he can hear faint humming indicating that she’s in the zone.

There’s an imessage waiting for him that Harry eagerly opens his phone for and –

It’s more than just a message of Zayn telling Harry he misses him. It’s a pouty selfie of Zayn with his shirt off, grey hair quaffed to the side as he smoulders at the camera. Harry can see the lips on his chest and the wings that sit on either side. Only the skull with the top hat, Harry’s favourite to suck on while he fucks Zayn, is on display for his eyes. Harry’s eyes flick over every aspect of the picture from the purse of Zayn’s lips to the way his eyes are squinted, sultry and heavy suggesting so much.

It’s not the most risqué photo that Harry has received – Zayn stopped sending nudes after the one time Harry squirted a bunch of frosting across twelve cooling cupcakes by accident. Zayn had cackled when Harry sent him the picture of the ruined cupcakes, asking if that was frosting or jizz. It was quite crude.

It didn’t stop Harry from taking the box home and force-feeding Zayn into licking the messy icing from the spongey, chocolatey cakes.

“Stop mooning over your boyfriend and start cleaning!” Harry snaps his attention up to Jill. She takes a moment to smirk at him before whacking the portafiller against the espresso grounds box.

Hastily, Harry sends back a peach emoji, followed by the air kissing one. It’s not his best response, but it’s the quickest he can manage before a customer filters through the door.

\---

The walk home feels like it stretches on for miles. Harry sees the apartment complex up ahead and a string of home, home, home, plays on repeat until he’s punching in his access code and swiping his key card. It’s with a spring in his step that Harry takes the stairs up to the third floor and his dick stirs as he thinks about Zayn waiting for him on the other side.

“Zayn?” Harry asks, toeing out of his boots and taking his coat off. He unwraps his scarf and places it over one of the hooks by the door. “Babe?”

“M’in the kitchen.”

In their small flat, Harry only has to walk a couple of feet through a doorway to get to where Zayn’s waiting for him. There’s a chicken pot pie sitting on a cooling rack on the top of the stove. A bottle of beer half-drank along with Harry’s favourite bottle of wine – the cheap kind of Tesco that Harry can stop drinking despite the fact that he can afford at least the medium-priced ones.

“What’d you make?” Harry asks although it’s obvious. He ate a few muffins before coming home, but the aroma of spices and chicken persuades him.

Zayn looks proud of himself when he steps into Harry’s space, still shirtless and only wearing a pair of jogging bottoms. “Chicken pie. Added some lentils ‘cause I know you’re obsessed with ‘em.”

Harry preens, bending into a kiss. His cold nose meets Zayn’s warm cheek, hands cupping Zayn’s biceps and Zayn shivers.

Zayn has made dinner for him before of course. He’s made curries and chicken dishes that Harry dipped naan into. Zayn made a lovely vegan casserole when Harry went through his veganism week. There was one time last year when Zayn trekked to Harry’s dorm with a pot of homemade soup because he was ill.

“I know it’s not on the chart, but I was thinking we could do the dishes together.”

Harry rolls his eyes and nips at Zayn’s cheek. His stubble grazes against Harry’s lips and he drags him in for another kiss.

“You’re such a tease,” Harry laughs, scratching his blunt nails against Zayn’s scalp.

“You love me,” Zayn brushes his thumb against Harry’s eyebrow.

“Don’t,” Harry denies.

“Do.” Zayn shakes his head and leads Harry over to where their supper awaits. “You love our kitchen. You love our shitty shower. You love our creaky bed.” Harry cages Zayn against the counter and stretches onto his toes so he’s taller than Zayn. It doesn’t stop him from continuing though. “You love the toilet that takes three flushes after you take a shit. You love how we have to crowd together to watch Netflix.”

Harry groans, dropping his head and nods.

Zayn peppers Harry’s clothed chest with kisses. “You love coming home to find me making dinner. You love that we share a fridge and a closet and a shoe rack. You love our home.”

“Home,” Harry agrees, smiling at Zayn. It’s his dazzling smile he knows. It’s big and bright and it’s not solely reserved for Zayn, but it emits a sheer happiness that he can feel radiate from the tips of his toes. “Love this life we’re gonna start.”

Zayn snorts. He’s not as sentimental as Harry and Harry gets it, he does. It had taken a while to get Zayn to open up to Harry but once he had it was like a dam had broken and Zayn’s goofy, creative, loud side came out.

“Love you even though you made a chore chart and you’re not letting me eat the pie.”

Harry grins, bringing Zayn in for another kiss. Then another and another. “We can just set the oven on low, right? It won’t burn?”

“For how long?” Zayn asks, giggling at the oven.

Harry detaches himself from Zayn and sets the oven on the lowest temperature. Harry doesn’t ask, nor does he turn around to see if Zayn’s followed him the short steps into their bedroom.

Zayn follows though, because of course he does. He takes Harry’s face in his hands and kisses him in the middle of the room as if they’ve been apart for weeks and not hours.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” Harry murmurs, take a handful of Zayn’s small arse in one hand and stroking down his spine with the other.

Zayn licks into his mouth like he’s starved for it. Harry thinks back to the pictures Zayn had sent him, of his face and his chest and how Zayn’s wearing far too much for what Harry has in mind. He can’t even think past the thrumming in his ears at the sight of Zayn’s stomach already clenching and the dip of his trackies revealing pubic hair and a hip tattoo.

“You stink like coffee.”

“I was at work Zayn,” Harry finds it in him to shove Zayn away half a step. He strips off his top and then undoes his belt and pushes his jeans from his thighs and down to his ankles. He nearly topples over when he tries to kick them off, but Zayn’s there with a steady hand to his elbow.

Harry straightens and steps back into Zayn’s space. He grins as he kisses his boyfriend, shoving his hand into the back of Zayn’s hair. Zayn kisses down Harry’s neck, licking over up the skin and then nipping at his jaw. He knows all the right places to kiss and suck and wind Harry up that Harry’s maneuvering them to the bed faster than he can walk.

It’s a sprint really. One that takes all of two steps and that has Harry jumping onto the bed and bouncing with the weight of it. Zayn gives him a quiet laugh, more of a huff than anything as he joins Harry. He’s gotten his pants off and isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Harry used to dream about seeing Zayn naked in the early days when they would make out for ages and Zayn would straddle his lap and grind down on him. It’s exactly what he does now and Harry still finds it thrilling to feel and watch and touch Zayn.

Zayn pokes at Harry’s side, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. “Stop making that face. It will get stuck like that.”

Harry frowns, pinching one of Zayn’s nipples. “I was thinking about how much I want you,” Harry counters.

“S’creepy,” Zayn laughs. “You look constipated.”

“You’re constipated,” Harry frowns. He grabs Zayn’s arse despite his words and shuffles him a bit closer on his lap until he can feel Zayn’s arse on his stomach.

Zayn rolls his eyes, but he manages to dip down for a kiss. Harry nips at Zayn’s cheekbone, tracing his tongue along the seam of his lips, Harry maps his hands along Zayn’s spine until he can feel how hard Zayn is against his stomach. Zayn rocks down, the edge of his dick, swollen and in need of attention, brushes against Harry’s abs.

“Wanna suck you,” Harry murmurs. His fingertips have gone clammy from digging into Zayn’s hips.

“Not tonight,” Zayn hums. “Wanna ride you.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. Eager now, he shifts Zayn to take off his boxers, but Zayn stops him by encircling his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “Wh-”

“I meant your face.”

“Oh.” Harry pretends to ponder it long enough that Zayn pinches his sternum. “Ow! Alright, come on.”

Zayn shuffles forward, wolfish grin on his face. He grabs the headboard and Harry allows his eyes to flutter shut. Zayn smells clean like soap, but undeniably like his skin, his sweat. Harry presses his thumb into Zayn’s hip.

“Miss me earlier?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. His hand is wrapped around his cock so he looks a bit ridiculous hovering above Harry’s chest. “I happened to take a shower,” Zayn strokes his dick so his knuckles graze along Harry’s lips. “If I happened to finger myself a bit and make sure I was extra clean, it’s a coincidence.”

Harry means to say something clever like ‘sure’ or maybe give a lewd wink, but it’s stolen when Zayn plants his arse over Harry’s mouth.

It’s not the best angle, nor is Harry’s head positioned the right way. It’s only a couple giggly shuffles until they’re situated properly and Harry can get a proper lick at him.

Zayn’s never been very good at staying still, but Harry enjoys the way his hips scoop back and the figure-eight of his arse as he teases Harry’s tongue. Harry grips the tops of Zayn’s thighs and plants his heels into the mattress. He licks as many broad strokes as he can manage with his tongue before he feels Zayn’s fingers twist in his hair.

There’s such a heady feeling – a rush – whenever Zayn cuts off Harry’s air flow with his arse. It never lasts for long and Zayn’s well-versed in reading Harry’s body language and knowing the way his breaths come out. It’s in the same sense that Harry knows when Zayn’s hips turn more into rocks than they do grinds on his tongue that Zayn’s close.

“Can’t believe you made a fucking chore chart.” Zayn’s voice has dropped an octave, lower and sultry. Harry can’t do much other than respond with a deeper lick. “You’re the – ah – stupidest fucking pers – oh God.”

Hours, maybe even days, have been spent learning each other’s bodies and discovering their tells. Harry remembers fucking Zayn until they had rug burn and Zayn’s cheek was scratched up from the carpet. He remembers how Zayn’s spine had arched and he had cried out for Harry not to stop. He remembers how Zayn had spread Harry out on his bedroom floor because it was bigger than his bed and watched Harry’s face intently for every sign of pleasure as he touched his skin feather light.

The backs of Zayn’s knuckles brush against Harry’s cheek when he strokes himself and Harry tries to keep his eyes open to watch as much as he can. Zayn is glorious and his beauty never fails to take his breath away. Especially as sweaty and primal as he is now.

Zayn doesn’t say anything as he lifts to his knees. They hold eye contact for a split second and Harry tips his head back, opens his mouth and flattens his tongue. Zayn’s grunting loudly, chest heaving as Harry stares through tiny slits.

“Fuck,” Zayn huffs before tipping forward. His come spills down Harry’s throat in thick pulses which Harry eagerly swallows. He feels like he can’t catch his breath, sweaty and sated with his dick hard against his stomach. “Want me to-” Zayn waves vaguely in the direction of Harry’s dick.

Harry nods, curling into Zayn’s side when Zayn flops down beside him. It’s messy and quick; Harry chases his orgasm by fucking Zayn’s fist, biting into his shoulder. The sheets are a mess as is the pillow that stray drops of come had splashed onto.

“So who’s designated to clean up this mess, then?” Zayn asks at the same time he swipes his hand through Harry’s come cooling on his stomach and wipes it across the sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to share the [tumblr page](http://bottomzaynficexchange.tumblr.com/post/132170300093/the-mess-we-can-make-for-starvingsnout-main)!


End file.
